on leaving, staying, and questioning why someone must do it first
why does someone have to leave first?
to me, it’s like asking the question of who came first, the chicken or the egg? it truly comes down to semantics and the recipients point of view, and well … asking yourself what came first? the product or the byproduct of that? why is it that someone, in every story, relationship, family, etc… why is it that someone has to leave first?
(to quote richard silken, “someone has to leave first. this is a very old story. there is no other version of this story.”)
i wonder what kind of catalyst the act of leaving is, whether it’s physically, emotionally or mentally, the amount of literature themed about someone leaving first so that the story can progress is close to infinite. for example, let’s take the 2023 movie, Past Lives. it’s one of my personal favorites. there’s a scene where the main character’s past lover refers to her as “someone who leaves,” and that is the reason why he kept holding on to what could’ve been if she hadn’t left to pursue her dreams.
what is it to be someone who leaves? is it to be selfish? to be independent? is it to be someone who doesn't care about others? is it someone who isn’t afraid to take a step forward? or is it someone who’s scared to go and does it anyway? could constantly leaving be confused for restless ambition? for the raw feeling of hunger, of wanting, wanting, and wanting… more. is the act of leaving yet another excuse? another empty argument to hide behind?
i wonder if everyone who leaves hesitates for a minute before wrapping their hands around their suitcases, sparing a minute to look at what is left behind, to sit one last time in a moment that will soon have no space or time to exist.
i wonder if they swallowed any grief, sadness, regrets, before walking away, suitcase in hand, knowing that what they left behind won’t be there if they come back.
(inserting another quote on leaving, from Richard Silken; “People don’t learn anything unless they are afraid of being left behind, says the suitcase, followed by “I am afraid,” also said by the suitcase.)
or do the people that leave do it because they are cowards? do they leave because they cannot stomach their realities? do they disguise the want for something better behind the fear of not facing oneself? for them, perhaps leaving is the fastest way out of a place where they don’t feel welcomed in. in that case, the act of leaving could be seen as an escape, a promise for something different, something better.
to leave is to grow, but at what cost?
i am a strong believer that any person that does not leave, cannot grow. and i don’t mean leaving to the other side of the planet to find answers without asking the questions first. i simply believe in that the only way to grow as a person is to leave, leave your hometown, to travel, to be stranded in a random city with people you’ve never met. if you do not leave how would you know what’s out there? how could you evolve if everything around you remains stagnant? how can a fish be free if it’s stuck swimming between the same four walls?
is leaving an act of escapism or is it someone’s final act of love?
in most literature, any character who leaves is deemed an outsider, a traitor, someone who did not have the valor to stay. in contrast, those who decide to stay, to endure the heaviness of the life that surrounds them, are deemed martyrs, as near heroes in most stories, often praised for their sacrifice. only those who escape from bad situations are the only leavers under a positive light.
i wonder when exactly the act of leaving became tainted.
you may ask yourself the reason behind this very themed blog post, and the reason I write about leaving is because I am, like nora moon in past lives, I am someone who leaves.
I have spent so much time outside of where I grew up in I find it unsettling to come back and stay in it for very long. in fact, staying home scares me. it scares me because it makes me believe that i could regress back into an old version of myself. I think it’s funny, because all the past versions of myself have never spent too much time home, either.
changing environments and moving towards new experiences over the past few years has led me to ask myself: what is a home? what is a home if not a place to lay roots in? what good is a home without a foundation to hold it steady? without a garden for growth? what is a home if not a place to put those suitcases to rest?
because i’ve moved around so much in lieu of chasing my so called dreams and aspirations, I believe I have mastered the art of building homes in unlikely places, focusing more on the people who make the foundation rather than the materials.
that being said, i’m lucky to say that I have homes in people spread out across the globe. there’s a pull out couch in new york, a dorm in barcelona i could wiggle in, an air mattress in ohio if I ever need it, a basement in tennessee that has had me over many times, and lastly my mother’s house will always have a bed to sleep in if needed. and for this I am very grateful. I think leaving has led me to meet people that have changed my life in so many ways, and it’s also led to many experiences that have undoubtedly changed the course of my journey as well.
now, as you may have read, i’m sort of biased on leaving. i hold nothing against the people who haven’t gone to far from home, just as I expect them to not hold my absence over my head.
i just think that there will come a time where the nest must be left, and the timing of that act solely depends on the birds ability to fly, or the lack of. now, that timing truly is something personal. for me, i moved away at 17, two hours away from home, wanting the world to swallow me whole and spit me out while I ate it right back from the inside.
now, at 23, i have definitely chewed more than I can stomach, but I am proud to say that I have also devoured shamelessly to get what I want.
i’m also at a very strange point in life, as many twenty somethings are. i’m back in my nest, knowing i can fly out, and yet … i hesitate. nostalgia sometimes cuffs my feet, blinding me with memories, filled with people and places that remain stagnant as time passes. i am not afraid of leaving, and i do not leave because i am afraid of staying behind, i leave because all i’ve known is to chase things that are much bigger, and much farther than me.